


electing strange perfections

by deadsea



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Meet-Cute, Sexual Tension, Some Humor, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:19:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2767889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadsea/pseuds/deadsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis meet through a mutual friend (Niall) and end up going Christmas shopping together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	electing strange perfections

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ecubed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecubed/gifts).



> this is based off one of the four super awesome prompts that I received (I actually felt bad picking only one of the three to write). the prompt for this fic is detailed and I don't want to give away the plot, but the very very basic gist is in the summary. 
> 
> hope you enjoy, and hope I didn't totally butcher this thing :)
> 
> (title from hozier's 'someone new')

"Who?" Louis asks through a yawn. He's on the sofa with his feet tucked under his lap, his fingers laced around a hot cup of tea, and his phone pressed to his ear, with Niall babbling away about his mate from Holmes Chapel who's just moved to London. Sometimes, Louis thinks that Niall calls him just 'cause he's tired of talking to himself (something he denies heavily, but Louis is certain that he once walked in on Niall mid-conversation with his life-size statue of Barack Obama).

"Harry Styles," Niall says matter-of-factly. "I think you'd like him."

"Yeah, sure," Louis says flippantly.

"You would. I asked him to come Christmas shopping with us on Saturday, too."

"You--" Louis begins. Christmas shopping is something he and Niall have done together for the past three years now. Both of them are relatively poor with an internal obligation to provide their families with Christmas presents, so they try their best to turn something that should be a hassle into an annual tradition. "You invited him Christmas shopping?"

"Yeah," Niall says. "I told you, he just moved here, like a couple days ago and I haven't seen him in a while."

Louis groans. "I don't exactly feel like third-wheeling while you and your mate reminisce about old times, Niall."

"Oh, shut up. He's really friendly, and I wanted to introduce him to my best mate."

Louis groans again. "Now you're just being sentimental to make me feel bad."

"Is it working?"

Louis takes a sip of his tea before answering. "Unfortunately, yes." Louis doesn't need much persuasion when it comes to meeting new people, and there's no way he's bailing out on his only upcoming opportunity to get his Christmas shopping done.

"Cool!" Niall says, excitable as always. "We'll both be at your house around noon on Saturday. Don't forget, Tommo."

"How could I?" Louis says, and Niall continues prattling on while he flips through the channels on his TV, eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. Every once in a while he'll come across a Christmas cartoon and immediately think about his sisters back home in Doncaster. He's been looking forward to the holidays since the beginning of the month, knowing that going home for Christmas will be just the temporary reprieve from work that he needs. He really is quite tired, and it's not long until he hangs up on Niall, promising to see him on Saturday.

***

Louis shoves his gloved hands in his coat pockets, keeping his head down and shoulders squared in order to nudge his way past anybody lingering on the sidewalk. It's officially the weekend, and all Louis is prepared to do is get home and clean his flat up in preparation for Niall and Harry coming over tomorrow. Then, it's just him and his bed and hopefully a full ten hour's rest before an eventful day of shopping.

The store windows glint and sparkle at him in hues of white and yellow, red and green, advertising Christmas specials and half-off sales. Couples linger at window tables in coffee shops, curled into each other on the same side of the booth, and parents drag their kids in and out of stores, and Louis aches for something he's not completely sure of. The holiday season always makes him feel like something's missing, like there's an imcomplete asset in his life that's clear in the bright lights and the buoyant faces of everybody around him.

So, he avoids the lit-up store fronts and doesn't stop for a tea on the way home, cursing quietly to himself whenever he accidentally lands in a puddle of melted slush. His house is quiet and cold and too empty when he gets home, and he finds himself looking forward to the extra company he'll have tomorrow.

***

Louis isn't sure what he'd been expecting from Niall's mate from back in Holmes Chapel. Honestly, in his mind, he'd been picturing some sort of duplicate of the Irish lad: small and scrawny with a carefree persona and an in-your-face type of loud personality. So, he's surprised, to say the least, when he swings open the door to his apartment four minutes after noon and is greeted almost shyly by a tall, curly-headed boy, chin buried in a creamy white scarf and hands shoved in the pockets of his long winter coat. Dusted in snowflakes yet seemingly glowing with warmth and friendliness underneath his wide, self-deprecating grin, he's the perfect embodiment of an angel. For a moment, Louis wonders if maybe this is some kid collecting money for the poor. He looks too sweet to be Niall's best mate from back home.

" _You're_ Harry?" Louis sputters. He wonders if he should think before he speaks more often; did that sound offensive?

"Um. Yes?" Harry blinks owlishly up at him through pale green eyes, shivering slightly at his doorstep. It's then that Louis finally gathers his wits.

"Sorry, sorry," he shakes his head, trying to fight the blush that's threatening to color his cheeks. He steps aside, beckoning for Harry to join him. "I guess I'm just a little surprised."

"Why?" Harry asks, clearly amused. He wanders into Louis' flat, eyes flitting to every corner of the tiny kitchen and living room, soaking in his surroundings.

Louis sighs, running a hand through his hair in exasperation, chuckling a bit. "I dunno. Guess I just pictured Niall's best mate to be some loud-mouthed Irish fuck just like him. Stupid of me."

Harry giggles, tucking his chin into his scarf a bit nervously. "There's nobody quite like Niall Horan."

"Right," Louis grins. "Here, let me take your coat. I wouldn't be surprised if Niall has us waiting another twenty minutes." As he mulls the idea over in his head, Louis thinks maybe he wouldn't mind getting to know Harry for a little bit. Maybe it's those sparkly green eyes and the way the snowflakes on his eyelashes seem to be twinkling at him.

Harry gives Louis his coat and his scarf and sits down reluctantly at the kitchen counter while Louis hangs them up. It's snowing outside and there's pale blue light coming in from the window over the sink, framing Harry and his halo of curls from where he sits at the counter.

Louis thinks this boy might be an angel, sent by Niall of all people. He wants to know him, wants to be swallowed up by his presence rather than just nudged by it, the way he is while Harry's sitting all the way over there, eyes fixed to the countertop. He's chewing on his lip when Louis goes to sit across from him, leaning forward and saying, "how do you like London, then?" It's small talk, and Louis hates small talk, wishes he could skip over it. But he can see Harry shifting in his seat, getting comfortable, so he goes with it.

"Um. It's okay. I just miss home."

"Already?"

"Yeah," Harry frowns. His eyes flit toward the window where the snow is still flooding the sky in torrents. The light from the window dances across his eyes like magic.

"I get it, mate," Louis says. "I have my parents and sisters in Doncaster. Good thing is, Christmas holiday's coming up." In the back of his mind, it hits him again, how much he can't wait to go home and see them all. The rest of him is all geared toward Harry, anxiously awaiting his response.

Harry nods thoughtfully, glancing out the window yet again. "I hate the snow. Back at home, one of my mates had a huge backyard that was just one huge downhill slope and we used to all go sledding," he talks slowly, like he's afraid of tripping over his words. Or maybe he's trying to be precise. Either way, it works, and it's more enthralling than you'd think. "But the thing was, after the hill ended the woods started, so you had to roll off the sled before you went and slammed into a tree."

"I can see where this is going," Louis interrupts cheekily, and Harry silences him, raising his pointer finger in the air. That's the thing: when Harry is talking, Louis wants to shut up-- a rare occurrence.

"So, like, one time four of us all went down on one sled, all piled on top of each other, and I was on the bottom, so I got stuck before I could roll off."

"Oh, God," Louis shook his head. "Very predictable story, but thrilling nonetheless. What happened? Broken nose? Or did they have to roll you out of there on a stretcher?"

Harry giggles, covering his mouth with the back of his hand like he hadn't meant to make a sound. "None of the above. I hit my head, and now I've got a scar shaped like a snowflake on my forehead. I think it's a curse. I've hated the snow ever since."

Louis' mouth drops open. "Mate! No way, that's so weird. Show me."

Harry blushes, leaning forward on one elbow and brushing the hair off his forehead with the other. Louis swears the light in the room shifts as Harry leans closer, all the yellows from the lights above them dimming to dark blues. Louis kneels on top of his chair, letting it tip forward so he can get a look at it--and sure enough, there's a tiny, white, crystal-like mark above Harry's left eyebrow. It's not noticeable until pointed out, but it's there, and it's sort of beautiful.

"Pretty," Louis breathes before he can put a filter on his thoughts. He almost reaches out to brush over it with the tip of his finger before he pulls back abruptly. "You're like Harry Potter. Same name and everything."

A burst of startled laughter erupts from Harry, and he slaps a hand over his mouth again. "I've never gotten that one before," he mutters, voice muffled by the fingers that are caging his lips.

"I take pride in my originality," Louis smirks, tipping back just slightly on his chair. Harry's still grinning broadly and it's all Louis can focus on, and suddenly the light in the room shifts again and he's on the ground, his stool hitting the hardwood floor with a loud clash. His head spins and the light in the room is too bright and gawky. Everything's silent for a second, and in that time Louis' too dizzy to focus back in on Harry.

He sits up, arms propping him awkwardly on the floor, clears his throat and shakes his head before saying, "Watch out for the stools. They're a little unsteady."

Everything's still for another moment, the potential tension suspended in the atmosphere as Louis fidgets awkwardly on the floor, and Harry's eyes are wide and moony with surprise.

And suddenly, the atmosphere breaks and Louis feels like the window's burst open and everything's surrounded in twinkling snowflakes because Harry's laughing. He's doubled over, clutching his stomach, forehead pressed into the counter as his chest heaves with uncontrollable giggles.

Louis can only sit there, dazed, cheeks flushed in embarrassment because honestly, who even _does_ that? What kind of idiot falls off his own stool at his own goddamn house when he's in the presence of a cute boy? (Not that he wants to _impress_ Harry or anything like that. Nope.) But Harry won't stop laughing, just smacks his palm on the counter repeatedly and gasps for breath, and it's not long before Louis' chuckling as well, scrubbing a palm across his face in utter shame.

"Oh my _God_ ," Harry breathes between outbursts, "I'm so sorry, Louis, but that's got to be one of the funniest things I've ever witnessed."

Louis grins sheepishly, burying a cough in the sleeve of his jumper. "I'm pretty shocked myself. Honestly, I'm usually much more smooth, I _promise_."

Harry's eyebrows pop up, and he glances suggestively at Louis. "Oh, _are_ you?"

Louis finds himself grinning even more broadly as he nods, sending a wink in Harry's direction. Any original barriers between them have been sufficiently broken by Louis' tumble and Harry's outburst, and all they can do is look in each others' eyes and giggle like maniacs as a snowstorm whirls around them, wind catching their laughter and filling the whole room with it.

Harry's still exhaling in hiccup-y gasps by the time he (relatively gracefully) slides off his stool and covers the three steps' distance between him and where Louis' still seated on the floor. There are stars in his eyes as he reaches a hand out toward Louis, and the lights cast a yellow glow around his chocolate curls like an incandescent halo.

"Thanks, Curly," Louis quips, stumbling to his feet so that he's standing directly in front of Harry. He notices that the other boy's got a few good inches on him, that his spindly legs go on for miles. He wills himself to stop blushing, but it's so hard when he's just made a complete ass of himself and now Harry's _right there,_ all adorable with dimples in his cheeks from smiling so much.

Harry chuckles, dropping his hand that's still holding Louis' to his side and absentmindedly tugging at a corkscrew lock of hair with the other.

Louis chews on his lip, contemplating his next move before abruptly stepping forward and muttering in his ear, "I'm a respectable person, I promise." Harry laughs loudly and Louis steps back, squeezing his hand once before dropping it and moving toward the fridge. "Go make yourself comfy on the couch, and I'll get us something to drink. Okay?"

"Okay," Harry replies easily, and Louis swears he can hear him singing Fergie under his breath as he slips off toward the sofa, the cheeky fucker.

_You got me trippin', stumblin', flippin', fumblin'..._

****

It's not until a half an hour later when they get the text from Niall. It's still snowing, outside and in, and Harry's cheeks are just starting to flush, partly 'cause of alcohol and, (Louis hopes) partly 'cause of him. They drink absentmindedly as they talk, Louis entertaining Harry with stories of previous holidays and life in the Tomlinson family while Harry lets on more and more of his quirks for Louis to tease him about. Louis almost wonders if he's doing it on purpose when Harry nonchalantly admits that he usually listens to Shania Twain on repeat when he cleans his flat.

"Oh _God_ ," Louis chokes. "I'm picturing this. Trying to imagine exactly what 'g _onna let it all hang out'_ would entail."

"Hey!" Harry cries, trying to cover his face with his too-big hands. "Who said I listened to _that_ song?" But he's blushing and it only takes a couple of pokes to his side before he's belting out the lyrics to _Man! I Feel Like a Woman!_ , loudly and shamelessly off-key.

"There we have it!" Louis exclaims, "Now dance for me, Styles!"

"Absolutely not," Harry mutters between lines of the song, and Louis absolutely loses his shit, doubling over until he's laughing himself into tears. Everything's absolutely hilarious, kind of like when he's high or sleep-deprived, even though he hasn't had anything to smoke and he slept a full ten hours last night. Harry's general presences excites him, and he hasn't laughed this much in a very long time. The two of them finally calm down, Harry slumping against Louis' side with a content exhalation.

"It was a bit pitchy, I must say," Louis pipes after a moment of silence. Not that it ever feels all that silent when he's with Harry; it's like they're constantly engulfed in a whirring blizzard. "The dancing might've made up for it."

Harry shakes his head, and Louis can feel the movement against his shoulder, feels Harry's heat seeping into him, and he's getting that feeling he'd been craving since the minute Harry had walked into his flat, of being completely encompassed in his presence. He wants to know everything about him and then some, but he's only known him for thirty minutes.

"I didn't want to embarrass myself any further," Harry breathes, only half-joking.

"No need to be self-conscious. I'm the one who fell on my ass within our first ten minutes of knowing each other." Harry grins enormously at that, and Louis nudges their knees together. It's strange how easily they were able to drop their physical boundaries with each other. Louis gets the feeling that Harry's a very tactile person, but when he touches him it's like he's done it a billion times before. It's nothing new or strange, and it seemed to just fall into place. "Just so we're not keeping any secrets," Louis turns so that he's looking directly in Harry's eyes, swimming with amusement and delirium. He beckons him closer with his pointer finger, and Harry raises an eyebrow, because they're already crowded up against each other on the edge of the sofa. Louis rolls his eyes, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Harry's ear. "I like you very much. You're pretty cool, Harry Styles."

When he pulls away, Harry's beaming deliriously, and his words slur together when he replies, "thanks, mate. You're cool too, I guess. Actually, I only like your flat. It's very homey."

Louis gasps, shoving him away. "Frankly, I feel violated. Also, I'm glad my tiny flat has that appeal. It's very reassuring."

"Mine's still filled with cardboard boxes," Harry wrinkles his nose, wincing at the thought of his very un-homey flat. "I hate unpacking."

"How depressing," Louis hums. "I guess you'll just have to come over here more often. Either that, or I can help you unpack?" His voice lilts at the end of the sentence, and he feels both a pang of hope that maybe Harry will accept graciously and invite him over, a pang of embarrassment that he's essentially just invited himself over.

"Really?" Harry says, eyes wide and hopeful. "You'll help me unpack?"

"Sure," Louis shrugs. He feels like he might explode at any moment in a burst of glitter and fireworks, he feels so fucking giddy. "Text me whenever?"

"Yeah," Harry agrees easily, pulling out his phone. "Oh shit, Niall's texted me three minutes ago. About time."

Louis snorts, collecting Harry's phone and plugging in his number before checking the text and reading it aloud, "Soooooo sorry lads, but I'm feeling really ill all of a sudden. I'll come another time, but neither of you have tried to contact me, so I'm guessing things are going well? Feel free to go on shopping without me. xxx love youuuu, Niall." Louis glances up at Harry, who's rolling his eyes.

"That fucker. Has to wait until he's thirty minutes late to cancel. Ah, well. I guess we'd kind of forgotten about the plans we had, anyway." He looks at Louis sheepishly, eyelashes fluttering.

Louis smirks. "Well, shit. What do you say to continuing on without our mutual Irish friend to accompany us, Curly?"

"I say; let the Christmas shopping commense!" Harry cries, throwing a fist in the air. It's very endearing, especially when Louis just shakes his head and bites his lip to tamp down on an oncoming smile, and Harry giggles, shoving his hair off his forehead as he stands up and reaches for Louis' hand. Louis takes it for the second time today, following him to the exit even though it's his own flat. Quite frankly, all Louis can feel is dazed as he watches Harry run the show and infiltrate his mind completely, seeping between his thoughts like the sunshine that melts the snow off the drab streets of London.

****

Harry's easily excitable, tugging Louis by his hand to obscure boutiques and brand name stores alike and trying on everything from lumpy Christmas sweaters to ridiculously priced fedoras with a feather sticking out the top.

"To put it frankly," Louis deadpans, taking advantage of the opportunity to rake his eyes over Harry's entire body even though he's only got a fedora on his head, "you look like a fucking idiot."

"Thanks, mate," Harry giggles, tipping the hat ridiculously in Louis' direction. "Unfortunately, it's far from being within my budget." Louis' trying to decipher whether or not Harry's actually serious as he pouts, eyes trained on the sticker price, before he sets it back on the shelf.

"Who would that one have been for, then? Your mum? Christmas is a time of giving, Harry."

"Shut up," Harry rolls his eyes, leading Louis back out onto the snowy streets. He sighs, tipping his head back so that the sunlight twinkles in his eyes. "I love shopping."

Louis raises his eyebrows. "I can tell. It's been a rather unproductive hour with all your outfit modeling."

Harry glances away sheepishly, clutching the single shopping bag he'd accumulated so far after spending twenty minutes modeling possible scarves for his sister. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Louis shrugs, "you're a good model." He doesn't check to see if Harry has any reaction to his comment before continuing, "so, where to next?"

"Mmm," Harry hums, thoughtfully. "To be honest, I'm positively _ravenous_. Do you know of anywhere good to eat around here?"

"Why, yes, I'd be delighted to take you out to eat, Mr. Styles," Louis smirks, sneaking a glance at the curly-haired lad. His cheeks are pink again, and this time he can't tell if it's from the cold or from his flirty insinuation. Louis hopes it's the latter, but either way it's a little bit cute.

Harry ducks his chin into his scarf, burying his sweet, red-lipped smile in the woolly material. The snow is still falling, more slowly than it had been earlier, but still enough to paint London translucent. Louis wonders if Harry minds the obscurity, despite his snowflake scar.

***

They're sat next to the window in a burger joint, because Harry had said 'somewhere cheap' and Louis had said 'nothing sophisticated.' Louis asks Harry about his family and listens as he gushes about his mum and stepdad and sister like he could go on forever. He watches his green eyes glint and sparkle like the sun or the snow could never make them when he describes his best mates from back home and what they'd gotten up to.

"Me and my mum have this thing where, like, once a month we designate one night to playing a full game of Scrabble. She usually wins, but I'm getting better. I dunno what we're gonna do now that I don't live so close. Words With Friends, I guess. Sorry, I'm making myself sound so lame and I'm probably boring you." He shuts himself up, sucking the straw from his drink into his mouth and looking at Louis with earnest.

"You're not," Louis assures him, unable to contain his grin. "Go on."

"I guess I'm just upset over having to leave home. At least they have nice shopping here." Harry aims a grin of admiration at the snow-streaked window, and Louis aims his at Harry. "Holmes Chapel isn't much of a commercial town."

"I'm sure it's picturesque, mate," Louis urges, stuffing the last handful of fries in his mouth. He collects their empty burger wrappers and tosses them.

Harry nods thoughtfully. "I think so. Different from the city here."

"London will grow on you," Louis offers. "It did for me."

"Yeah, well," Harry says, "it already seems just a teeny bit smaller, thanks to you. So, yeah, thanks. For all this." He's shy all of a sudden, just barely meeting Louis' eyes from underneath his pretty eyelashes, lips curved into an uncertain smile.

"Anytime, babe," Louis coaxes, willing Harry to meet his eyes again. "You ready to hit the streets again?"

Harry nods, and as they continue their stroll through the city, conversation alternatively flowing and trickling and rushing, Louis can feel something blossoming between them, despite the chilly weather and muted sunshine. He strategically nudges Harry's side every so often, whenever conversation dies down a bit or when the boy says something particularly sweet or charismatic or quirky.

Two and a half hours later, they're each heaving a bundle of shopping bags in both hands and complaining about sore feet. Harry stretches his long, jean-clad legs out in front of him when they go to sit down at a nearby bench, shopping bags discarded on the ground in front of them.

"Successful Christmas shopping is so satisfying," Harry sighs, leaning toward Louis. Louis meets him halway, and their shoulders are pressed against each other, making up for the heat that's lacking all around them.

"Successful. _Right_ ," Louis huffs. "As in, I've _succeeded_ in spending all of my money and am now broke and destined to live on these very streets that have stripped me of my finances."

"Don't be so dramatic," Harry giggles. "Now you don't have to worry about Christmas presents until next year. You've got everybody covered."

Louis hums thoughtfully, reveling in the implications of Harry's optimistic statement. It was true; he had all of his family members, best mates, even his boss covered. "I think--" he begins, "I think I owe _you_ a Christmas present."

Harry is quiet for a second, and Louis doesn't meet his eyes. He gives a self-deprecating chuckle before saying, "you don't owe me a thing."

Louis backtracks quickly, waving his hands in the air for emphasis. "No, no, I _want_ to get you something. After all, you've done wonders in helping me with my Christmas shopping. I'm usually shit at this kind of stuff."

"Well. I'm honored," Harry says softly. "When are you gonna give it to me?"

Louis thinks about it for a second, contemplates asking Harry out on a proper date, and then chickens out. "I have your number, yeah? Look out for a text from me. We'll do a little gift exchange."

"Who said I was getting _you_ something?" Harry teases, and Louis finally meets his eyes again, gasping in mock-indignation and watching as his green eyes light up with amusement. "Kidding!" Harry cries. "I already know what it's gonna be. I totally saw you eyeing that fedora--" Louis silences him with a smack to his arm, and they both dissolve into giggles.

"Hey," Louis says once they've calmed down again, "are we finished, or is there anything else on your list?"

"Well," Harry begins, trailing off. Louis follows his line of sight, noticing a little boutique just across the street that's advertising a clearance on jeans.

"You need some new jeans?" Louis muses, and Harry nods sheepishly, chewing on his lip.

"Do you mind? I'll just be a few minutes, promise."

"Somehow, I doubt that," Louis mutters, but they collect their bags and cross the street anyway. It's very quaint in the little shop, and nothing is brand name or overpriced. Louis admires the clothing displayed all around the store, but settles decidedly on a bench just outside the fitting room, opting out of any last minute shopping excursions. "You go ahead, Harry. I'm not gonna tempt myself by trying anything on."

"Not even sixty-percent-off jeans?" Harry pouts, but he's not even looking at Louis, too absorbed in holding the trousers up in front of him and squinting at tags to check for sizes. He's got seven pairs tucked under his arm by the time he shoves the curtain to the side and disappears into the fitting room.

Louis hums to himself as he pulls out his phone, tapping out a 'get well' text to Niall. He can hear Harry rustling about in the dressing room, and a minute later the curtain flies open and he's donning a particularly ridiculous pair of magenta-colored jeans.

"Are those magenta? They're ridiculous," Louis snorts, and Harry rolls his eyes, giving an uncoordinated twirl before disappearing back inside. It's only another minute before he reemerges, this time in a maroon pair.

"Didn't you grab any, say, _blue_ jeans? Or black?" Louis muses, taking in Harry's mile-long legs clad in the deep red material. He has to say, maroon isn't bad. Not bad at all. The denim's particularly tight around his thighs, and Louis wants to touch--

"What do you think?" When Louis meets Harry's eyes he's smirking, arms clasped innocently behind his back.

"They're lovely," Louis says, "you look like a prince."

"Thank you," Harry laughs, blushing despite the ridiculousness of Louis' comment. "How come you're into maroon, but not magenta?"

"Hmm," Louis strokes his chin, allowing himself more time to rake his eyes over Harry's body a few more times. "Maroon's less tacky and more elegant."

Harry nods, all seriousness, as he says, "I value your opinion, Louis Tomlinson," before stumbling backward into the dressing room again. Louis snorts, going back to his phone.

He can hear the distant sound of the snow swirling and blowing outside, storminess picking up again, and he revels in the coziness of the little shop. His phone buzzes.

_hah i'll b fine mate. hav fun ;) xxx_

Louis just stares at his screen, puzzled. What the _hell_ does that mean? And why did Niall include so many suggestive emojis at the end--

"Harry," Louis says, because the boy's been in the dressing room for just a bit too long, and Louis feels something twisting in his stomach. Because he's vaguely certain that he's currently in the process of being set up, and he's not about to give Niall the satisfaction of a successful matchmaker. Hell, _no_. He's perfectly capable of finding a date on his _own,_ thanks very much. Who needs curly hair and dimples and a snowflake scar and a voice as slow and monotonous as driving through slush? Not Louis. He's charming and witty and good-looking and he can do _way_ better. Harry is not one bit enticing. That he's a friend of Niall's says nothing; in fact, it's probably a detriment to his self-worth. Niall could befriend a rock. Louis doesn't deserve a rock. He deserves a diamond, or an emerald (he tries not to think about Harry's emerald eyes or the fact that his mind seems to be on a one-way circuit constantly leading back to the boy in the dressing room).

"Harry?" Louis says again, because his analogies are starting to get a little off kilter and Harry really has been in there for far longer than he should have.

"Um..." comes the ominous response. Louis blinks.

"Harry. Are you having a wank in there or summat? What's taking so long?" And, okay. Maybe that was a little rude, but Louis' growing frustrated, and he really needs to get home so he can have a nice, long phone conversation with Niall.

"Am I--n-no! What the-- no! Oh my God, Louis," Harry sputters, and Louis is immediately remorseful. He pictures Harry half-naked in the dressing room, all blushing and flustered 'cause of something Louis said, and-- he halts his thought process right there.

"Sorry," Louis calls sheepishly, staring at his lap and forcing himself to be quiet. He taps his foot against the floor a few times.

"Um," Harry says again after an awkward beat. "Louis?"

"Yeah," Louis answers, dragging out the word. This is definitely starting to get weird. He wishes Harry would just come out of the dressing room already so they could get on with it.

"I have a...um. I'm in sort of a predicament."

Louis blinks. "What... what is it?"

"I, uh, I. I can't get out these jeans."

Louis blinks. Silence ensues. "You _what?_ "

"I mean," Harry babbles, "they didn't have my size in the black jeans so I went a size too small and they're _super_ tight and I just can't---I can't get them _off."_

_Well._ There's a moment where Louis actually contemplates making a dash for the front door to the shop. "Oh my _God,_ " he finally blurts. "Are you--how the hell did you manage that?"

"I don't know," Harry hisses. "Can you just, like, _help_ me, please?"

Louis' brain short circuits. He thinks this is one of those moments that he'll look back on and laugh at the ridiculosity of it, but as of now, all he can do it panic. "Are you telling me to come in the dressing room with you and help you undress? Are you seriously asking me to assist you in taking off your pants?" Louis sputters.

" _Yes,"_ Harry says, desperately. "Please, Louis."

Louis chews his lip. He's being ridiculous; all he's being asked to do is help out a mate with an... _intimate_ situation. Right. Even stating it logically in his head makes it sound like the worst thing in the world. Nevertheless, he's more than ready to get out of the little boutique, and he's not quite sure if he has an alternate option. After all, as embarrassed as Louis is to be in this situation, he figures Harry must be a hundred times more so.

"Okay," he sighs. "I'm coming in." He stands up, stalks to the dressing room, and slips in behind the curtain. All of a sudden everything's shadowed in dim light and Louis feels like hyperventilating 'cause it's only him and Harry, who's on the bench against the wall with a pair of black jeans looking painfully tight around his thighs, and the space they're in is not exactly big. Louis stands over Harry, who's grinning sheepisly back up at him, his cheeks strawberry red. And it's so _hot_ in here, Louis thinks.

"Jesus," he blurts.

Harry lifts a stiff, jean-clad leg to kick Louis in the shin. "Let's get this over with, please?" Harry blurts, and Louis scrubs a palm over his face.

"Right. Okay."

Harry's more flustered than ever as Louis grabs hold of his legs, fisting at the material at the bottom of his jeans. Meanwhile, Louis is trying his absolute hardest not to think about the suggestive nature of the position they're in and how much it's fazing him.

It's so _hot_ in here and Louis wishes he were back out in the swirling snow, strolling through the expansive city with Harry by his side rather than slumped on a bench in front of him, squirming as he tries to yank his legs one way, while Louis yanks his jeans the other way.

"Fucking _hell_ ," Louis moans when the pants won't budge. "How the hell did you manage to get these on in the first place?"

"I don't know," Harry whimpers, shoving locks of sweaty curls off his forehead. "I think I'm losing circulation in my legs."

"Don't be so dramatic," Louis huffs. "Again on three. One, two, three--" He tugs on Harry's jeans as hard as he can and Harry grunts as he tries to squirm in the opposite direction.

They're both panting at the end of their effort, and they've made progress.

"Almost there, almost there," Louis reassures. Harry nods, eyes glazed and unfocused.

"R-right. Okay. Again," Harry stutters, and Louis swallows, looking away for a second. It's quiet for a moment except for their heavy breathing, and this time when they get back to the task on hand Louis digs his fingers into the front pockets of the jeans, moving a bit closer with one of Harry's legs between his so he can get a better angle--dear _God_ \--and he tries his hardest not to make any noise, but Harry's whimpering and grunting as he struggles, and Louis suddenly feels his own jeans growing tighter-- _fuck_.

So, naturally, at this exact moment, the dressing room curtain is swept to the side, and they hear the gasp of an angry salesgirl. Louis stumbles backward as he immediately releases Harry's jeans, and Harry's head bangs against the wall. They both look up at the girl with flushed cheeks and eyes like deer in headlights, as she fish-mouths, searching for the right words with eyes wide in horror.

"Y-you can't, you're--there's _no_ sexual behavior allowed in here!" she cries. "Get _out!_ "

"We weren't--" Harry gasps, just as Louis says, "It's not what you think!"

"Put some pants on and _get out_ ," she hisses, yanking the curtain shut and stalking away.

They're both quiet, Louis leaning against one wall and Harry slumped against the other, too shy to meet each other's eyes.

"I can't believe that just happened," Louis whispers. "Never in my life did I imagine I would get into a situation like the one I just did. I think that'll be one to tell the grandkids."

Harry lets out a surprised peal of laughter, ducking his head and burying his face in his hands. "Sorry," he giggles. "Fuck."

Louis shakes his head. "Apologize to me in a month and I'll forgive you and we'll have a good laugh over it. That was the most painful situation I've ever been in."

Harry's still giggling, not seeming apologetic in the slightest. "Or," he breathes, "we could just have a good laugh over it _now_."

Louis rolls his eyes. "First, why don't you finish taking off those jeans so we can get the fuck out of here?"

"Yeah, okay," Harry agrees, his laughter dying down as Louis slips out of the dressing room, tapping his foot impatiently until Harry stumbles out from behind the curtain, flushed and holding the maroon jeans under his arm.

"Oh, _no_ ," Louis groans. "As nice as those jeans looked on you, we are _not_ waiting here any longer to make a purchase."

"You think they look good on me?" Harry's grin stretches all the way across his face and Louis just squints at him.

"Yes," he says. "But you're missing the point. We can't stay here any long--"

"Hey!" the salesgirl cries. She's left her spot at the register and is currently glaring at the two of them so hard it looks like her eyeballs might pop out of her sockets.

"Um," Harry says, "I'd like to buy these--"

" _Out_ ," she hisses, pointing at the exit, and Harry drops the jeans as Louis grabs hold of his hand, dragging him out of the store.

***

It's snowing harder than ever outside, and Louis' glad for both the reprieve from the heat and the shield it provides between Harry and him. At this point he's not sure what scares him more-- looking into Harry's eyes and having a decent conversation with him after what just happened, or having to walk away from him without more than an awkward, mumbled goodbye. They're both being uncharacteristically quiet, staring at the slushy sidewalk and avoiding any contact, contrary to the way they'd been bumping into each other and nudging arms playfully before. Louis feels a little bit empty, which is ridiculous, because he's only known Harry for a few hours now and he shouldn't care whether or not they ever see each other again. Yet, he wants nothing more than to talk to this boy for hours about everything and nothing, and maybe even take him out on a proper date and kiss him until he's flushed and out of breath, and then blow him (the latter is probably the result of the compromising position they'd been forced into in the dressing room). The rest can come on its own, but Louis' certain that he couldn't just let Harry go, not after the way they'd connected, and certainly not before he got to know him more than he already did after just a couple hours of tentative, somewhat flirty conversation.

"Hey," Louis finally caves, and Harry looks up at him through eyelashes dusted in snowflakes, his facial expression uncertain. "I think I might be able to forgive you for that terrible, terrible situation you just put us in. For the record, now that I think about it, it was kind of hilarious."

Harry's lips slowly curve into a smile. "I can't believe she thought we were, like, having sex in the dressing room. I mean, those rooms were _tiny_. That would've been fucking uncomfortable." He pauses. "Pun unintended."

***

"You know," Louis giggles, "I'm definitely gonna tell Niall that you got stuck in a pair of jeans. I mean, honestly, that's pretty embarrassing. I'm not just gonna keep this one to myself." He has one hand rested on the small of Harry's back, their previous proximity regained.

"Don't you _dare_ ," Harry breathes, eyes squinted in laughter and dimples prominent on his cheeks. "I'll never make any friends with Niall blabbing that story to everyone he knows."

"Hey, at least you've got me," Louis says.

"I haven't scared you off, then?"

Louis shrugs. "You _do_ have a couple redeeming qualities," he jokes.

"Thank God, then," Harry exhales, and the two of them come to a stop. They'd agreed that they would walk until they were right smack between each of their flats so they'd have to walk the same distance alone. It would be a short walk, but Louis couldn't stand the thought of continuing on without his curly-haired companion. It was beginning to grow dark, and they had successfully spent the larger portion of the day wrapped up in each other's presence. The street lamps were all on, making the snow look like golden residue falling from the stars, or something equally poetic.

Louis turns to face Harry, only to see that he's already looking at him with uncertainty, snowflakes raining down between them like a barrier. They're so close, though, and Louis drops his hand from Harry's back, moving it to rub at the back of his neck self-consciously.

"I'll see you," Harry says, softly, voice lilting at the end like it's a question.

Louis nods, slowly. "Yeah, Harry. Yeah, you will." He smiles broadly, if only to bring the dimples back to Harry's cheeks.

Harry grins small, pink lips still pressed together, and Louis thinks it's not enough. Harry takes a couple steps backward, nearly tripping over himself, and Louis chuckles, waving at him as he goes.

"Have a safe walk home, okay?" he calls. "Text me once you've made it." Louis means it, but it's also a little bit of an excuse to get Harry to contact him.

"It's only three blocks away," Harry calls back, grinning silly now. There we go, Louis thinks.

"Okay, then don't!" Louis teases, and he whirls around, preparing to begin his walk home with Harry still fresh in his mind.

'Wait!" Louis freezes. "Louis, wait."

He turns around and Harry's walking quickly toward him, stopping with their faces only inches apart. Harry chews on his lip, gaze flickering between Louis' eyes and his lips.They're so close again, and this time there's no barrier. So, Louis rolls his eyes, grabs Harry's face in his hands and brings their lips together.

There's no hesitance in Harry's movements this time around as he kisses Louis with fervor, warming him from head to toe. Louis strokes his thumbs over Harry's cheeks, warming them up as he throws himself into the kiss, becomes lost in it. He bites Harry's lip and licks into his mouth, nearly bends him over with force and passion, and Harry just takes and takes and responds beautifully, shuddering against Louis' touch and the feel of their lips moving together. He gives a sigh when Louis slips his tongue into his mouth, gasping whenever he bites his lip. Louis pulls away first, moving one of his hands from Harry's face to his hair, tugging playfully. Harry's hands are tight around his waist and Louis' burning up from the heat. Harry looks more beautiful than ever, cheeks flushed spectacularly and lips swollen, green eyes all lit up under the artificial light of the street lamps.

"Still mind the snow?" Louis wonders, tracing a thumb over the tiny scar on Harry's forehead.

He shrugs. "It's growing on me." The snow swirls thick around them, and Louis can vaguely hear passersby, but all he can see is Harry right in front of him, can only feel his striking presence.

"I feel like a character from a cheesy movie," Harry says finally.

"In a good way," Louis assures, reaching up a hand to catch a few snowflakes in his palm before smearing them across Harry's cheek.

His pretty eyes widen in shock, lips forming an 'o' of surprise as he swipes a hand quickly across his cheek, removing all remnants of wetness. Smirking, he leans back in to kiss Louis again. As their lips meet, Louis feels a shock of cold water against the back of his neck, and immediately shoves Harry away.

"Don't get cheeky with me quite yet, babe," he scolds, "I haven't even scheduled our first date."

"Wouldn't want to ruin my chances, then," Harry says, remaining a few steps away with his hands clasped behind his back like a schoolchild. "You wouldn't consider this a date?" He smirks.

"If I did, it would have been a disastrous first date, if you ask me. Also, I refuse to give Niall that satisfaction."

"Niall?" Harry says, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What does Niall have to do with this?"

"I'm almost certain he set us up. I'll get back to you on that, though. I'm calling him as soon as I get home to scold him."

A grin splits Harry's face, and he gives an adorable peal of laughter. "Let him know I say thank you."

"Sure thing, babe," Louis says softly, stepping forward to brush a hand over Harry's cheek. "Will you go to brunch with me tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah," Harry breathes, leaning forward and capturing Louis' lips in one last bruising kiss. "Pick me up at eleven?"

"Sounds _great_ ," Louis gushes.

"Cool," Harry breathes.

"Yeah, cool," Louis mocks, watches Harry blush and dimple before stepping away from him with a little wave.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Louis."

Louis watches him walk away, glancing over his shoulder every couple seconds with a wistful expression on his face.

 

 

Louis feels a little bit drunk as he walks home, vision blurring with glee and Christmas lights dancing in front of his eyes off the fronts of all the stores. He feels giddy, like he's suddenly filled up with something that he'd been missing previously, and he's still smiling as he curls up in bed even after a shouting match with Niall over the phone.

_"I still can't believe you set me up like that, you bloody bastard!"_

_"Why the hell are you complaining? Don't you like him?"_

_"Of course I do, he's fucking perfect and we've got a date tomorrow."_

Louis has a hard time holding up his end of the argument after that, and Niall proceeds to tease him until he hangs up in the middle of the Irish lad impersonating Harry proposing to Louis in an exaggeratedly deep, slow drawl.

Understandably, Louis neglects to tell Niall a single detail of their shopping date, especially the part where they got kicked out of a store for inappropriate sexual behavior. He thinks he'll save that one for their wedding day (fucking _hell,_ he's already getting swept up in Niall's exaggerations).

***

The next day, Harry greets Louis with a "hi" and a shy smile, and Louis greets Harry with a kiss that lasts longer than it should for a first date. It sufficiently breaks any tension between them, and they can't keep their hands off each other for the rest of the day.

At the restaurant, they both order pancakes and when Louis kisses Harry afterward he tastes like sugar. It's not too cold outside and the snow from yesterday is already beginning to melt, so they walk around the city hand-in-hand.

They go out for drinks with Niall later that week and suffer through his relentless teasing by rolling their eyes and twining their legs together under the table and, eventually, getting spectacularly drunk. They're exhausted by the end of the night, and Louis takes Harry back to his where they proceed to fall asleep on his couch, curled up together with a movie playing in the background.

Louis' never had anybody like Harry. For him it's unprecedented, but it all comes naturally. This thing that's growing between them has filled Louis up until he's bubbling over, nearly overzealous in his love for this curly-haired boy. He gushes to his family about his boy over the holidays until they're begging to meet him, and Louis knows they will, eventually.

It's not until New Year's that they finally fulfill the sexual tension that had sparked between them in the dressing room on that first day they met, and it's better than Louis could have ever imagined, the sound of Harry moaning and shouting out his name drowning out the relentless fireworks exploding over the city of London.

"Are you even real?" Louis asks afterward, his chin digging into Harry's chest from where he's splayed out on top of him. Everything's a post-coital haze, and they're both exhausted and sweaty with exertion.

"I dunno," Harry drawls with glazed eyes and a bleary expression. "I think I'm floating away."

"Stay here," Louis urges him, nudging their lips together sleepily.

"For you," Harry murmurs when they pull away, rubbing a large hand over Louis' back. Louis rests his cheek against Harry's chest, listening to his heartbeat, pounding away rapidly at first, and eventually slowing down to a lazy throb.

"I want you to meet my family," Louis says, tracing patterns across Harry's bare chest. "My mum's been begging me, and my sisters are going to love you."

"You think?" Harry says quietly after a beat.

"Yes," Louis says matter-of-factly. "Because you're a sweetheart and I said so."

"Okay," Harry responds shyly. "But only if you meet my mum and my sister. I'll warn you now, Gemma'll probably tear you apart. They're both very protective."

"I'll put up with it," Louis shrugs, rolling off Harry's chest and waiting for the boy to curl into his side.

"Thanks, Lou," Harry says, voice warm and soft and thick with sleep.

Louis doubts he ever could've imagined a happier New Year.


End file.
